


Eye Of The Beholder

by DittyWrites



Series: Scarecrow/Riddler Shenanigans [18]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Art, Artist Edward, Bad Attitude, Developing Relationship, Humor, M/M, Model Jonathan, Model/artist au, Snark, They're both assholes tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DittyWrites/pseuds/DittyWrites
Summary: Edward Nygma, bored artist with a poor attitude, is faced with a new challenge when a fresh model is brought in for his preferred life drawing class. With his unique look and even worse attitude, Edward is instantly intrigued and becomes determined to know more about the odd man.





	Eye Of The Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> This is finished but i will probably make small edits based on certain feedback! I hope you enjoy tho loves xx

It was their first session with a new model and the change could not come quicker for Edward.

The last model, Pamela, had been beautiful.

With curled hair which was a shade of red even more impressive than his own, Pamela was one of the few models who willing participated in the class completely nude and there was no doubting her credentials for such a role. Her darker skin had shone with radiant health and her curves were flawless, from the bountiful chest to her firm hips, and the envy in the room was almost palatable.

She was, essentially, perfect.

Boring.

Edward could see the attraction, could feel the attraction, but nothing about her had excited him in the way which he needed. The lines of her body flowed too easily, the perfect colouring she possessed giving him no potential, and he found himself wanting.

But today was a new day.

“Could I have your attention?” The class leader, Frances, broke the mild chatter with her soft voice. “Our new model has arrived. Say hello to, Mr. Crane.”

Standing to her side, the new model nodded politely as a series of greetings were muttered out to him from the students.

To Edward, he looked foolish, but then again so did all the new models when they stood fully encased in the modesty sheet until they were ready to reveal themselves.

Mr. Crane.

Edward squinted at him.

He was thin, that much was obvious, and his face held a gauntness which would be unattractive on most but seemed to suit him fine. His hair was a deep brown but as he shifted the lights of the room picked up on some auburn tones which were flecked with grey. Appeared to be mid-30s if Edward had to guess, a few years older than himself, and there was something in his expression which Edward was instantly drawn to.

Utter contempt.

Never before had Edward seen such a look upon a model before they even started. Nervous smiles and prideful eyes were commonplace depending on the type of person whom had volunteered, but this unapproachable glare? Never.

Interest peaked, Edward set up some sketching pencils on his easel as he prepared for the session.

“Mr. Crane will not be fully nude during the class,” Frances continued her usual 'new subject' spiel, “as he will retain his boxer shorts. He will also only be joining us for one session. Mr. Crane,” she turned to him and indicated the sheet, “if you wouldn't mind.”

Unwrapping the sheet from his body, Crane dropped it in a messy pile next to the slightly raised podium he was required to pose upon as a small chorus of gasps made themselves known around the room.

Where many were gasping in surprise or even disgust, Edwards' was pure delight.

He was...unique.

Almost unnaturally thin, each divot across his body, from the protruding ribs to the sunken bones of his pelvis, cast the most interesting shadows across the pale skin which enveloped them. As he stood on the podium, he turned his back to Edward and provided him with a full view of his figure as he attempted to find a comfortable position to keep.

His back was as beautiful as his front.

Every nodule of his spine was detectable as they appeared to burst through the skin and Edward was taken by the insane urge to run his hands each one, to feel their rise and fall, and he flexed his fingers instinctively.

Settling down with his back still to Edward, Crane chose to sit in one of the stools with his back straight and his legs crossed against the floor.

The sound of graphite scratching against paper and the soft shuffle of paint as it was spread across canvas soon filled the room as the class started their various pieces.

Bringing his pencil to the sheet, Edward allowed his natural talent to guide him as he started to loosely sketch out the spine which had enticed him so.

Art was his creative outlet, a method by which he could focus the never-ending cogs of his wonderful mind to a specific task without feeling as though he were allowing himself to decay.

Natural talent had not been present but through sheer force of will he had developed a considerable skill set throughout the years. Oil painting. Pottery. Embroidery. He had attempted each and more with varying degrees of success and he had found that having a live subject from which to draw inspiration from was by far the most appealing.

He could not stand being bored.

Lost in his thoughts, it only seemed at though a few minutes had passed when the silence of the room was broken.

“Okay,” Frances interrupted their concentration, “that is time, people. Enjoy your break and you have ten minutes to enjoy before I require Mr. Crane to retake the podium.”

Surveying his work, even Edward had to admit that he had performed well.

The shapes he had created were sharp enough to be accurate but loose enough to have left him room to play with. His shading was bold and easy on the eye. Not bad at all.

Mutterings of conversation broke out among the other students but Edward did not concern himself with them, he never had, and he had only one goal.

To speak to his subject.

Having regained his sheet and helped himself to a mug of coffee, Crane sat off to the side of the room showcasing absolutely no desire to interact with either the students or their teacher as he adjusted the sheet which covered his lap and legs and scowled at the wall.

Approaching him, Edward slapped on his most charming smile.

“Hello.” He offered his greeting with confidence. “My name is Edward.”

Cranes' eyes locked with his for a split-second and Edward felt a small thrill down his spine as the ice-filled glare speared him.

“And?”

His voice was hoarse but it seemed natural and not the result of illness or neglect.

“And,” refusing to be thrown of his stride, Edward gave him a simple look, “your name is?”

“Why do you want to know?”

A challenge.

“Because I do. The niceties cannot be ignored and I did not waste ten minutes of my life detailing your spine for you to not answer my polite question.”

“I do not want to talk to you.”

“Then I will simply hack into the resister for the class and discover your name that way.” Edward boasted with a threatening edge. “Do not mistake me for a fool or student. I have a masters in Computing Science with an additional degree in Engineering.”

“I'm impressed.” Crane responded, sounding anything but. “Why do you bother with a class such as this then?”

“I appreciate the creative outlet,” Edward confessed, “it keeps the monsters at bay.”

Cocking a brow, Crane gave him his attention again.

“And what do you know of the monsters?” He asked with a sinister smile.

“What do you?” Edward countered, matching his expression.

Crane snorted.

“Jonathan.” He threw out after a moment. “My name is Jonathan Crane.”

“Then I am pleased to meet you, Jonathan.”

Pleased to have won that information, Edward pressed on.

“You are one of the more interesting models we have recently had the pleasure of.” Edward could feel the creeping chill of eyes on his back as he continued to force Jonathan into conversation but he ignored them. “Most are very boring.”

“'Interesting' is an interesting choice of word.” Jonathan spoke quietly. “What makes me the most 'interesting' subject you've drawn?”

“I never claimed you were the most interesting,” Edward interrupted, “what I said was 'more'. More interesting.”

“Oh?” Apparently thrown off by the honesty, Jonathans' brow furrowed. “And who holds that title?”

“A man who volunteered earlier in the year.” Edward explained, his pleasure at having actually struck up a conversation with the unwelcoming model making him bold. “Harvey, his name was. Suffered an unfortunate accident in his line of work and was left with terrible scarring on his face and upper body. Brave of him to volunteer for this type of work, especially given his less than desirable appearance. I cannot imagine why a person whose body lies outside of social norms would choose to participate.” He prodded lightly.

“I am not ashamed of my body,” Jonathan cut in, his tone cold as ice, “and your childish attempt to garner a reaction from me with such words is pathetic.”

Rude, but undeniably fair.

“My apologies.” Edward offered insincerely with a wolfish grin. “I meant no harm and I do not regard you as unattractive.”

Edwards' words giving him clear pause, Jonathan hesitated before speaking.

“I have made my desire to be left alone clear and yet you persist in speaking to me.”

“And yet I persist.”

Repeating the words, Edward brought his hands up to fix his tie, it was green and speckled with purple streaks. One of his favourites.

“Why?”

A simple question which turned the tables and left Edward momentarily stumped as he considered his response.

“I can see,” he answered after a short pause, “the potential for inspiration within you. On my behalf. A feat which very few people have ever achieved. I am not easily swayed.”

Jonathan snorted.

“You seem to have a high opinion of yourself, Mr. Nygma.”

“I do. I know my own worth and i never underestimate it,” Edward countered, “very much, I suspect, like yourself. You do not seem like the type of man to allow himself to be herded with the other sheep.”

Jonathan considered the statement with a strange smile.

“Better to be the teeth than the flesh it worries.”

“Always.” Edward agreed.

Drumming his hand against the chair he was seated in, Jonathan regarded him for a moment with a questionable look.

“You are a curious man, Mr. Nygma.”

“Please,” Edward insisted, “call me Edward. I don't insist on for-”

“Okay, folks.” Frances' soft tones broke apart the conversation, “Mr. Crane will now return for the second half of the session.”

Edward spared an apologetic look as he made his exit.

Returning to his canvas, he paused to wipe his hand with a damp washcloth to remove the sweat which his small conversation had caused to develop. His attention returned to his paper as he picked up a small clip tore himself a new sheet in preparation of the new session.

“Have you selected your new pose?” Frances' voice again washed across the room.

“Yes, I have.” Jonathans' response.

Edward glanced up and his breath caught in his throat causing an odd choking noise to escape him.

Jonathan was facing him.

Directly.

His gaze was lost somewhere in the ceiling above but there was no denying that he was careful in his pose selection. Thin legs spread slightly, his elbows rested on his knees with his hands clasped beneath his chin, almost in a bastardised version of Rodins' 'Thinker'. His white boxers still preserving his modest, almost every other inch of flesh was exposed to Edwards' gaze, every shadow, every divot, and his face was subtly tilted to the side to ensure his profile was also visible.

A loud clatter jerked Edward back into his thoughts as the clip fell from his grip. Cursing internally, he ducked down to pick it up before retreating behind his canvas, furious that he was to be bested at his own game.

The pose was beautiful in its symmetry but as the students again began their works, Edward held his pencils in an uncertain palm. Something about the sharpness of the pencil, of its defined lines seemed inappropriate and he instead selected a different tool.

Bringing the charcoal to the paper, he found it much more in-tune with his desires and his gaze darted between his subject, as still as marble, and his work-in-progress which was coming together smoothly beneath his skilful fingers.

Blending with the edge of his pinkie and the pad of his thumb, he was engrossed in the work. However, every so often, when his eyes would flicker to Jonathan, he would find those robins egg blue eyes already watching him with a passive gaze and his throat would tighten as an off-kilter sensation wracked his stomach.

Following his instinct, he allowed the piece to create itself. His mind felt oddly calm as he kept his breathing even and engrossed himself in the task at hand.

Similarly to the first half of their session, time existed outside of his perception.

“Time is up!” Clapping her hands, Frances called the work to a close as she emerged from her position at the back of the large, airy room. “You all worked very well today, and I would like you to thank our model for his time.”

A mild chorus of thanks were targeted towards Jonathan but he ignored them in favour of leaving his seat and returning to his clothing, folded neatly on Frances' desk.

The scuffling of feet and easels as the students packed up their belongings to leave littered the room and Edward experienced an odd feeling of disappointment as he packed his own bag, considered his next move.

Jonathan was only scheduled for one session.

He would have liked more.

A presence drew his attention away from his bag and he glanced upwards.

Standing at a respectful distance on the other side of his easel, was the victim of his thoughts. Now fully clothed in a simple pair of dark slacks and a button-up brown shirt, Jonathans' outfit added volume to his thin frame and Edward could not read his expression.

“Jonathan?” He asked, tone as polite as could be.

Pointing to his easel, Jonathan ruffled a hand through his hair to reorganise it to his preferred style.

“May I see it?”

Unwilling to show weakness, Edward gave an easy smile as he beckoned Jonathan forward with a small gesture.

Presenting his work to its subjects eyes, he switched his gesture into a pretentious flourish.

“Voila.”

The piece was starkly black against the white of the sheet and having captured the essence of Jonathans' position and shaded in all the necessary details which gave him his unique countenance, Edwards' muse had insisted in an odd addition to the fairly-realistic portrait.

A set of wings.

As black as the charcoal would allow, the wings were vaguely similar to those of a crow with the exception of being a touch more curved than those possessed by any corvid. Expanding outwards, they were unsettling against the gaunt figure but also powerful in a twisted way.

“Your thoughts?” The beginning tendrils of unease gripped him as he waited for the verdict. “Mr. Crane?”

Without answering, Jonathan turned to face him and Edward experienced that twist in his stomach again as he viewed the first signs of warmth within the cold eyes as they surveyed him.

“The wings?” Jonathan asked. “Where do they source from?”

“I...do not know.” Edward confessed, running his thumb gently over the dark wings, almost sickly-looking despite their obvious strength, which he had drawn as protruding from Jonathans' shoulder blades, smudging their dark colour together further. “They seemed somewhat appropriate.”

“I think I like it.” Bringing a hand to his chin, Jonathan leaned in further to examine the details of the art piece. “I was not expecting to gain anything from this.”

Jonathan turned so his back was fully to the easel, his hands clasped behind him, as he gave Edward his attention once again.

“You have a talent, Mr. Nygma.”

The praise causing him to beam with pride, Edward could not help the feeling of warmth that any positive regard brought him.

“Extremely hard earned, I assure you.”

“I do not doubt it.” Jonathan placated him. “Perhaps I will see you around. Not here.” He amended quickly. “But around.”

Unable to help himself, Edward had to ask.

“You have no respect for the work you have completed, of being a life model.” He accused. “So why did you bother?”

Ignoring the question and striding with confidence towards the exit of the room, Jonathan only paused for a moment at the door.

“Because I was curious.” Jonathan answered, adding. “And the pay was good. So, until we meet again, Mr. Nygma.” He inclined his head politely.

“Until then, Mr. Crane.”

Edward fought off the urge to follow Jonathan as he disappeared through the doorway and left him alone in the room, the other students having departed as soon as possible. Realising he was barely packed up, he sighed in irritation and bent down to pick up his supplies.

However, just as he knelt to the floor, something very out of place caught his eye.

There, pinned on a small post-it note on the very corner of his paper, was something written in such an atrocious scrawl that it took him a moment to decipher.

A phone number.

“The old crow.” Edward chuckled to himself, tucking the number away in his pocket and already plotting out a lavish invitation to dinner.

It would be rude, after all, to not follow this new potential muse wherever he wanted to take him.

 


End file.
